Counter Clockwise
by HazelEyesDontTellLies
Summary: What if Tessa hadn't been rescued by Will from the Dark House, but instead months later, the lifeless bride of the Magister? How does she suffice in the hands of the merciless Enclave, who have her constantly watched by their own, none of whom Tessa trusts. Can the kind London Institute Shadowhunters save her from her own darkening mind, or is it already too late?
1. Clockwork Kingdom

"You stupid little girl," Mrs. Black spat as the jerked tight the knots holding Tessa to her bed frame. "What did you think you were going to accomplish, running away like that? Where did you think you could _possibly_ go?"

Tessa said nothing, simply set her chin and looked towards the wall. She refused to let Mrs. Black, or her horrible sister, see how close she was to tears, or how much the rope binding her ankles and wrists to the bed hurt.

"She is entirely insensible to the honor being done to her," said Mrs. Dark, who was standing by the door as if to make sure Tessa didn't rip free of her bonds and rush out through it. "It is disgusting to behold."

"We have done what we can to make her ready for the Magister," said Mrs. Black, and sighed. "A pity we had such dull clay to work with, despite her talent. She is a deceitful little fool."

"No matter." said Mrs. Dark haughtily. "The Magister has already been called. Your forthcoming husband will be here shortly. And then," she said to her sister eagerly. "We shall have our reward."

The sisters turned to go, and Tessa could no longer fight it. Though she had tried to not give into her burning curiosity, had refused to give them the satisfaction of response, she had to know. "Where is my brother?" She demanded at the Dark Sister's crooked backs. "You said if I did everything you asked you would – "

"Your _brother_," reprimanded Mrs. Dark sharply, still turned away. "Will be lucky if he survives until the morning after your disobedience."

"Truly," Mrs. Black looked disgusted. "Your blatant disregard for your brother's wellbeing is revolting! I would never treat my own sister that way. "And they turned to go once more.

"Wait!" Tessa cried and lunged forward, forgetting about the ties keeping her in place. "The Magister - What does he want with me?"

Mrs. Black's patience was gone. "He wants to _marry_ you, you stupid child."

"But why?" Tessa begged. "Who is he?"

She looked at her sister sideways. "You will learn soon enough."

"Come along, dear sister," Mrs. Dark said, already out the door. Her hideous sister followed, and this time Tessa did not stop them.

Tessa made some low guttural sound of anguish in the back her throat; it hardly sounded human. "Oh, _Nate,_" she said." I don't know what to do."

**_X_**

The raw silence worsened Tessa's uneasiness. It seemed the whole world was too frightened to make a sound, the calm before the storm, and Tessa was no exception. And though she could not hear either of the sister's uneven footsteps through the thin floors of the Dark House, she knew they were still awake, only staving off sleep to readily greet this Magister.

Who was he? Tessa asked again in her mind. Why was he doing this to her; leaving her with two cruel wretches who seemed content hurting her and threatening her brother? If he wished to marry her, why bring her so much unhappiness?

The window by the far wall looked as if nothing but a dark frame, stunning her. How could it still be night, with no light yet poking out of the horizon? How many more hours did she have before she was taken, an unwilling bride?

As if the universe mistook her anxiety for eagerness and willed it to happen, the brass door knob clicked. Tessa wanted to scream. Her wide eyes were fixed on the round knob as it spun, slowly, and finally the door pealed open.

The Dark sister's shuffled in together; a shadowy figure just behind them. A fist squeezed Tessa's heart – it had been naïve to hope, but if there were ever a time for one of her fictional heroes it was now.

But the figure behind the wicked sisters was not Heathcliff or St. John. Past the Dark Sisters' shimmering gowns, Tessa could just make out a man standing in the door frame by Mrs. Black's candlelight. He was a head shorter than the other sister's towering height, but his shoulders were as broad as the sailors she had seen on the _Maine._

This was the Magister. She knew it even without the sister's triumphant leers.

With his arms folded behind him, the man approached the bed where Tessa was tied down and was amazed to find she could still be embarrassed about her position. Up close, Tessa could see the lines that creased his face and knew he was not as young as she had at first thought. His hair was just beginning to gray, but he still could not be older than forty.

_Marriage?_ He could be her father!

Soaring above her like the tall buildings of this awful city, the Magister tilted his head, studying her. Tessa looked back fearfully, and hoped it didn't look as though she'd been crying.

Behind him, Tessa saw the Dark Sister's glance at each other anxiously. Was he disappointed? She knew they were wondering. Was she not everything he had hoped? Was she not as pretty as the Magister believed, or just incapable? Had they failed their beloved master?

The Magister turned on them suddenly, his voice cut through the thick silence loudly that Mrs. Black jumped. "Why is she tied?" He demanded. "_Well?"_

"I – "Mrs. Black stammered, her sister was silent behind her. "She resisted - tried to escape you, Master. We did only what was necessary to – "

"Untie her." The stark man was composed at once and the sisters scuttled forward like obedient mice, practically chewing through the rope in their haste. "Leave us." The magister said once the job was done and they were gone.

Now free of binds, Tessa pushed herself against the bed frame as far as she could. The Dark Sisters feared him, should she, too?

"Ms. Gray," The Magister said to her, and smiled. "We meet at last. I apologize for such crude conditions – I had hoped our first meeting would be a much happier one."

Tessa stared.

As if sensing her confusion, he amended himself. "Forgive me; I don't believe I'm doing this properly, am I? My name is Axel Mortmain. And you," He grabbed her hand and pressed her knuckles to his mouth "Are to be my bride."

Finally Tessa brought herself to speak, "You…you are the Magister,"

He looked pleased. "I am."

"Then you are the one who brought me here, to this house. You know my brother and you know where he is." They were all assumptions, but his eyes never portrayed surprised and Tessa knew she was correct. "You are the one who has kept me from him."

Mr. Mortmain smiled wryly. "All correct, Ms. Gray. Your brother did say you were clever – but there is one thing I know that you haven't asked about yet. Are you not curious?"

"You know what I can do. You know of my – ability."

"Indeed." Tessa opened her mouth to inquire more, but he was already speaking again. Turning towards the door he said, "I'm afraid the rest of your questions will have to wait until later, my dear. I am not a patient man, and we are in a hurry. Pack your things, I'll send Mrs. Black and Mrs. Dark up in a moment to collect you."

"Wait, Mr. Mortmain!" Tessa shouted. He turned to her curiously waiting, but Tessa had so many questions and thoughts and objections that she did not which to speak first. In the end she spoke none of them and the Magister finished out the door.

_No. _

Now alone, Tessa spun in what had been her prison for these weeks. Driven by some furious force, she darted to the window and pressed her hands against the glass. It was cold from the night and she could not say how thin or thick it was around the dark frame, but Tessa brought her fists together, rearing them back above her head and shot her balled hands forwards against the glass repeatedly.

But it did nothing. She abandoned that pursuit quickly, and spotting the porcelain jug on the washstand and seized it, throwing the object against the window. The jug bounced back, cracking, and finally shattering on the floor in a pile of white shards and water. Tessa moved to grab the heavy silver hairbrush in a similar attempt but it was too late – the door knob was turning.

Her heart jumped in her chest and stayed there. Tessa darted back to the window, to the shattered porcelain at her feet. She had just a second to identify the sharpest and most threatening shard and stow it in her pocket before the Sisters were upon her grabbing her arms as if predicting struggle.

Tessa could not reach the jug's piece in her dress's pocket, and resorted to biting the Sisters hands. This got her slapped by Mrs. Dark. With a great deal of tripping and stumbling, the Sister's finally got Tessa down the stairs and standing before the Magister. He stared at them, at Tessa struggling in their arms. "Oh, Ms. Gray," He sounded almost disappointed. "I had hoped you would be mature about this."

"Mr. Mortmain, _please_ – "

"Hold her still, please." He said to the Sisters, withdrawing a bottle of water-like liquid and handkerchief from his pocket.

"No!" Tessa's struggling increased with renewed strength, but true to their master's orders she was held still. "What is that? _No!"_

"Hush, Ms. Gray. You have so much learn and I have so much to teach you – It would be easier for us both if you did not fight it." He lifted the damp cloth to her face.

"But I – "Tessa tried, and then his handkerchief was on her mouth and nose and she gasped. Though she knew she shouldn't have, she could not help it.

They were all watching her, observing her reaction to the drug. Everything had gotten very slow to Tessa – it was slow and faint when she heard things and it took her mind moments to process what she saw and then it got dark and she hardly saw anything.

Her body was limp in the Sisters arm, half collapsed. "Take her out to the carriage, will you?" Mr. Mortmain said pleasantly and they dragged her roughly down the stone steps where the froglike coach men lifted her onto the bench of the third carriage in a line in front of the Dark House.

Tessa would never know it, but then the Magister would hand Mrs. Black a small satchel. Inside was half money, but more importantly was a stone that the Sisters had craved ever so desperately and what that stone would give them.

The Magister said to his servants. "We shall be in touch."

"Oh, yes! Master, if ever you should need something, _ever_ – "said Mrs. Dark dotingly.

"That shall be all," he dismissed, closing the door to his future bride's carriage door and stepping into his own, the second in the line of three. "Thank you."

The first carriage started off, followed by its siblings. If Tessa concentrated she could hear the trotting of horses and swaying of the carriage as it jostled. The orange glow of the lamplight leaked in through the window above Tessa's head and because of it she could see the foggy figure that was the Dark House disappeared from views.

_X_

As Tessa's was moved to a new prison, the dark early morning from when she left was flooded with a day's color until that soon began to go over the West and a new night began.

Back in London, Will Herondale, with his band of three men, arrived where Tessa had been a day before: the Dark House. They were all _glamoured_; all but Thomas of course, but still approached the dank building with caution.

The building's name was fitting, Will thought. No lights seemed to burn inside the closed walls and no carriage was parked – it could be assumed the building was abandoned and empty. But it went beyond the drab gray stone he made out by the gas lamp; it was something shadowy and ominous that left him disgruntled.

Disgruntled or not, Charlotte had insisted they pursue the murder of the dead girl he and Jem had found weeks ago. They were supposed to investigate the Dark House last night, but Jem had been on one of his bad days and Will refused to go without him. Jem would have wanted to adventure the mystery in person, he always was curious.

Will wouldn't admit it, not even to Jem, but he was glad of the chance to investigate as well. Something didn't sit right with him – the Pandemonium club and that pair of wicked sisters, the double _ouroboros _swallowing one another_,_ and that young dead girl with tiny pink bows. What did all mean? What did it have to do with this house?

"Look here," said Thomas, towards the street in front of the house and they gathered round, Will pretending to look bored.

"Horse droppings?" He inquired skeptically when he saw what Thomas seemed to observing. "The horror! I shall file complaint to the street sweepers at once!"

"No, look," Jem said, squatting down and pointing to the thin mud crusted on the streets with his cane where feet apart were deeply set lines. "Carriage tracks. They're deeper than what one carriage could make on its own – I'd say there were at least two or three here all at once. Pretty recently at that."

"Right. Heavy traffic." said Will. "I'll take note of that."

It was then decided that Henry and Thomas were to stand guard outside and be ready in case a quick getaway were required. While Will and Jem snuck between the thin lanky gaps in between the Dark House and the abandoned corner store.

"Will," Jem whispered once having spotted a servant's entrance on the house's side. Will nodded, withdrawing his_ steele_ and tracing on a rune. It burst open after the heated mark sizzled the wood and the young men stalked inside.

They ended up in a kitchen, not nearly as fine as the Institute's but it was quick to navigate an exit which hall's lead to a foyer. Broad balcony's jutted out from the second floor, and in the center of the room was a stair case.

Will indicated with a tilt of his chin that he would be the one to investigate the upstairs and Jem, this floor. The stairs creaked under his swift steps, a tell sign of the former brothel's age. Making a sharp turn he started picking rooms at random. All were unlocked, and inside the heavy daft doors was either an empty bed frame or discarded trunks full of old petticoats and the like.

Until he reached the last door, the only locked door, at the end of the hall. After his opening rune had been drawn on its face, he raised his witchlight high in hand and the white light peaked through the cracks of his fist, illuminating the dark room.

Will hesitated, cautiously stepping into the room. It was cold inside, with a small wind from where the window peaked open. Rather than thin wired empty bed frames like in the other's, in this room there was a large bed, with white curtains hanging from the tall posts at each corner. The draft caused them to sway like ghosts.

But that's not all that was different. Instead of old hard wood floors, this had intricate blue carpeting. Rather than cracked drywall, there was gray floral wall paper. There was a wardrobe too; and Will reached for one of the mirrored door's handles.

Inside was the most curious thing of all – a wedding dress.

Why was a wedding chamber in an abandoned brothel? Where was the dress's bride?

Will was out the room immediately, determined to continue on. He darted up another set of stairs and began again. Each room had similar results to the others, all empty with nothing of importance to the case.

He reached the last door on this level, wondering if Jem had found anything resourceful. The room Will approached was not empty, and Will entered.

There was a folding screen, behind it most likely a bath, and next to it a washstand. The wardrobe and its drawers were empty. But there the bed was still made and two books were abandoned on the window still. Whoever had lived here had left in a hurry.

Strangely, there were also shards of some smashed white material lying discarded at the window's feet and Will toed one before moving to the messy bed, and upon closer inspection he spotted limp ties hanging from each of the bed's poster.

The intention was obvious – someone had been tied down. Will, having experienced the world's cruelness and perfected his own at such a young age, assumed the worst. But this on its own was curious, wasn't it – a rape in a brothel?

He reached for the wriggly rope by the head of the bed, but drew back when his finger felt something crinkle. He bent down and there, folded in between the spaces of the mattress Will had torn apart, were scraps of paper, squired with ink.

He squinted, holding the witchlight in one hand and struggling to read the foreign writing of the papers. Each began in the same way, and Will's brow crinkled as he wondered who this Nate was, and why he was so dear.

"Will?" Jem called, before he could finish reading them. Folding the papers, Will went out to meet his _parabatai. _

"What did you find?" Will asked.

Jem looked grim. "Bodies – down in the cellar. And you?"

"A wedding chamber," Will reported. He raised his hand that held the papers. "And these."

**_X_**

**First chapter is up and the second is already written - review if you want more! Thought I'd share one of the possible outcomes of Tessa meeting the Magister before the Shadowhunters**


	2. Clockwork Queen

**_Four Months Later_**

Tessa had learned a lot about the true nature of the world and its creatures since she had some to mountains. Monsters from storybooks Aunt used to read her – they were all real. Automatons, fairies, vampires, werewolves, warlocks, demons…and worst of all the Shadow hunters.

But they were not like the angels Aunt Harriet had spoken of at all – they were faster and stronger and crueler. That was what she had been taught. Mr. Mortmain had told her if they ever caught her they cut her into pieces and save her disembodied parts as mementoes. They would tear out her eyes and chop off her hands, and when she was finally dead, Mortmain had said, they would store her blood in jars.

But he would not allow that to happen. Mr. Mortmain had said so himself – though Tessa knew he could not be trusted, he had never punished her with anything as bad as what the Nephilim promised. He could be lying, she knew, but wasn't it better to coax with what was familiar against the unknown? What if it was true after all?

The Automatons were Mr. Mortmain's own cruel artificial creation. He had created them out of dead bodies and all kinds of clockwork cogs and dials. He had showed them to her when she first arrived; him looking proud and like he expected her to be proud too. Tessa had been horrified, her hand pressed to her mouth – some were entirely machinery, while others were coated in human flesh and bore the same wide-eyed and frog-like expression as Miranda and the Sister's Coachmen.

The Magister had frowned when he saw the terror in his eyes, and immediately misread it. "They aren't finished yet." He sounded astonishingly sheepish. "A machine cannot think, you know, it must be programmed. But one day this machinery, created by my own hands, to function on its own will. For now they are only the shells of the greatness what they may be one day – and you will help me fulfill them."

Tessa had never understood what Mr. Mortmain had meant by that, but then there were many things he said that she didn't comprehend and he would scarcely answer her.

At first Tessa had been filled with questions and outrage – but he had quickly seen to that, nearly beating the life out of her with his manipulative ways and brutal punishments. She hated him so viciously much it almost frightened her – she wanted so much more than to just see him dead. He wanted him to feel everything he had done to her all the pain and feel everything he had taken from her.

It had hurt so much – in the end she had just given in, however much she loath to admit it, she would do anything to make him stop.

"I'll stop the moment you agree to obey me, Miss Gray," He convinced her, his voice had been slow and coaxing, rolling the whips handle in his palms. "You're only hurting yourself…Don't you want to see your brother again? Alive, that is?"

It had been the final straw. Once defeated and silent he had explained to her the hidden world and what he needed to marry her for. But it had been maybe two weeks ago when he finally revealed some of the mysteries in Tessa's life.

It like much of else of what he told her, began off with his hatred of the Nephilim. "Do not let their blood fool you, for they are soulless conniving monsters! And so inferior…But you are not one of them, are you?

"Of-of course not," Tessa had sputtered.

"No," he went on. "You are only a _half_ Nephilim and the other part of you is what they seek out to destroy – demon."

_Me? A Shadowhunter?_ Tessa had thought wildly. And then, _Demon?_ Tessa had wondered if she should be hurt, but something told her had not said this to cruel.

"But because your mother was an _unmarked_ Shadowhunter, because she did not know what she was - or that the demon was not truly your father – that is why_ you_ exist. You are part demon and part angel and because of this_ you_ are superior to them all. And you and I, together, will create a new superior race that one day will destroy what will be left of the Shadowhunters. That is all you need to know."

Now in the present, back in Tessa's small room, an automaton stalked in and told her the Magister was waiting. Reaching for some comfort, Tessa held her angel necklace and followed the awkward machinery as it navigated down the thin cavernous halls.

She knew very little of her surroundings, where she had been stowed away all these months. She only knew she was in the mountains because she had been conscious when the carriage cricketed into the tunnel's hidden entrance. The Magister had made it very clear to his machines she was only permitted to go down certain halls, into certain rooms, and then only with an escort. One of the rooms most commonly visited was Mortmain's office, where they were headed now.

All the rooms were chiseled out of the mountain itself, all the walls gray and hard. Only few of the tunnel-like rooms were decorated – the dining hall, Tessa's small room, and Mr. Mortmain's room and office.

He was sitting at his desk, rifling through some papers. He looked up when they came in, ordering the machine to stand at the door. And then to her he smiled. "My dear bride,"

Tessa went very still. She had almost forgotten. The ring on her left hand suddenly felt heavy, like it would weigh her down to the floor. It like so much else in these mountains was made of his machinery – it was bone crushingly tight around her finger, irremovable. The heavy rock reminded her of one more thing he had taken from her.

One month after she had been imprisoned here, a blond copy of Miranda had tied her into her stays and given her a white dress, fixing her hair as well. The usual threats of Nate's well-being was the only thing keeping her from ripping off her veil and thundering out of the isle.

The ceremony had been in a small room, lighting up the stone walls with candelabra's from the ceilings. It _looked_ like a church, it _looked_ like a wedding. Mr. Mortmain had even placed the more human looking of his machines in the pews, some mocking gesture that their wedding have an audience.

And after, he had taken her to his bedroom.

Once it was done, he had noticed her numb expression, and said. "It's just a formality." She could not breed yet, he told her. "Not until you are fully mature." It's just a formality – so she was _ready._

A rage had sparkled in Tessa's center, lighting trails of gun powder through the veins of her body until an intense fire burned entirely, something that could only be put out by the satisfaction his painful death. The memory of her fire began to spark in her again, and Tessa willed herself to quench it but _oh, how she hated him._

Now, months after he had touched her so horrifyingly, Mr. Mortmain rose from his chair and Tessa realized he was turning a watch over in his hands. He made his way over to the fireplace, standing over it and into its depth. "My dear Theresa…I don't believe I have ever told you about my parents."

"No, sir."

Tessa was silent as he told her the story, he did not look at her once but rather bore into the fireplace as if he could see the faces of his dead parents there and he need only reach out. He mentioned his adoption, and how to his parents he was one of their own, Mundane or not; and of his father's dream of a clockwork army. And especially told her of his parent's murders by those bloody Nephilim.

"And so now you see."

"No, I do not, sir." Tessa said robotically. Perhaps she was part automaton herself now. The thought did not frighten her as much as it should.

He looked at her with some exasperation. "Are you daft, girl?" Tessa shook her head.

"All this – "He gestured grandly, watch dangling from his grip. "Has been in the name of justice! You being here, you _existing_ are pieces, necessary cogs, for part of my plans of justice!"

"Of revenge." Tessa corrected, tired with his speech. When would he dismiss her?

He waved her off with his hand. "Call it what you like. The only concern of yours is how you will help me fulfill it,, my Clockwork Queen."

Tessa frowned warily. "What do you mean?"

He chuckled at her naivety. "Have you forgotten? We are to repopulate the world, with a new race – but have you never once stopped and asked what we were replacing? Where would they go?"

_Go?_ "You are going to kill them? _All_ of them?" Tessa was alarmed. But he said there were thousands! She couldn't…_how_ could she kill so many? How could she live with herself after?

"Exactly – but how do I have means to do this? My brilliant automatons are slashed through so easily by those Seraph blades. Do you know the answer, my dear?"

"I do not."

"It is simple - my machines must be unholy. Demonic."

Tessa's head was spinning – it was so difficult to follow his rapid thoughts and she asked for clarification, wary of his anger. "You mean to make a machine that is part demon so that it will destroy the Shadowhunters?"

"Yes," It seemed very important to him that she understand. He was speaking very fast. "Tie a demon to a machine's body. They needn't be programmed at all – they would act on their own will under my command!"

"But how..?" Tessa asked warily, wondering if she'd live to regret asking.

"With you," He said, gazing at her like she was the sun. Tessa felt sick with terror and confused, it was only when he held his precious watch out to her with open palms that she understood. "Take this, my dear, and Change."

Tessa's hands were buzzing; only with great effort did she pluck the watch from his hands. It was very old, with worn leather straps and cracked lens. "But I don't – "

"Oh, yes, you _do_." The Magister sounded forceful.

"No." Tessa said, gritless and week but he had heard her and more importantly she heard herself. "No, I–"

"No?"

"No." She whispered firmly, but could scarcely sneak a look at him. "I can't help you kill them. There are so many - I could not be responsible for that. I won't."

"Oh, you won't?" His voice was full of so much menace. Before she could part her lips for response, she had already been gripped by the shoulders and thrown against the mountain walls forcefully. The blow robbed her of breathe and she struggled to stand in the mess of her skirts and pain.

He was upon her again, lifting her from her fallen position by her upper arms, screaming and shaking her with so much force her skull rattled. When Tessa let out a fearful whimper he pressed her up against the wall tightly. "Oh, you _won't_? You have suddenly grown a conscious, eh? You won't _let_ me kill them, you wish to _protect_ them, is that it?" He roared angrily. "_You owe them_ _nothing _– they would kill you in a heartbeat if I allowed it!"

His anger ebbed away slowly, but he still held her against the wall painfully. She could practically feel the gears in his twisted mind churning. He whispered. "I thought I had broken you…but you have a backbone yet, do you? You have been beaten, scalded, and whipped but you refuse to be tame. You are stronger than I had warranted." He paused. "Your brother is not so strong... how well do you think he would fare under such conditions?"

Tessa immediately caught his meaning. "No!"

He tossed her away, towards the door. "Get her out of my sight." He commanded the automaton at the wall and Tessa was seized at her shoulders.

Lifted out of the room and ripped down the hall, Tessa kept screaming and crying because she knew he could hear. "_Please!_ Don't hurt him! I'm sorry, I'll do it! I promise – _please_."

He would not listen, she realized as she was savagely tossed into her dark room, landing painfully on her side. She sat up slowly and thought of Nate and fought back the painful urge to cry. How could she have been so selfish?

**_X_**

Despite the put out rage in Tessa's body, that of the fire was steady and warm and provided the only light. She sat directly in front of it, nested in a pile of her own skirts with her knees tucked in her chin. She was trying not to think, but it was useless. Was Nate okay? Was he furious with her for allowing him to be hurt? Was he…alive, even?

She had not seen him once in sense arriving. Despite the Sister's promises of the Magister giving her everything, gifting her with whatever she wanted in the world, he would not allow her to see Nate. She had at first feared that he was already dead, that during her time in the Dark House they had hurt him and thought he could still be used as a manipulative force, even in death.

But then she had gotten his letter…

What warmth the fire had drained out of her body when she heard the stone door of her room open. She knew who it was without turning, and that was why she was so cold.

His footsteps stopped once at her hunched back, but she still did not turn to face him. He seemed to enjoy her compliance, testing her by toying with a lock of her hair. "I've heard news of your brother." He said. "He lasted quite a few more hours than I'd expected, but is quite unconscious now…He never was very strong."

Tessa ignored the jab, staring into the fire. She wished she could jump inside it and burn away to ashes, if it meant getting away from _him_. Behind her, Mortmain bent down, now level with Tessa's head and whispered into the side of her head. "We will see how resistant you are now."

She would not be resistant at all; Tessa had already made up her mind. She would never, ever again in this life resist him or his wishes so long as Nate was in danger. She couldn't afford to be that selfish.

The door creaked behind them, and Tessa finally turned when an awkward tall machine stood in the door, several others illuminated by the candlelight in the hall. Alarmed by the great number of automatons, Tessa glanced at Mortmain in dread. Had they been summoned to torture her or something?

But Mortmain was just as shocked as she. "What is the meaning of this?" Mortmain demanded.

"Intruders." The stiff automaton standing in her room said in a prerecorded voice. "They are attacking, sir."

"Who?" Mortmain demanded.

"It is the Nephilim."

Mortmain stood, shocked for a solid minute. Tessa could not see his face against the burn of the fire, but his body was shaking. Finally he said, "I want all automatons prepared to fight – alert them of the crisis." He ordered stiffly.

When the Automatons left in a mess of grinding metal and clomping, Mortmain turned to stare at her darkly for a moment. When he raised his hand high in the air above him, Tessa knew what was coming and could only watch in paralyzed fear as it came smacking down upon her.

"Do you see what your disobedience has done?" he whispered crazily, while Tessa was holding her burning cheek and tears with her hair. But Tessa _did_ see. "Perhaps if you had only done as you were _asked_, my machines would have had a chance. But you, you stupid _bitch,_ you would not because you sought to save the monsters who will now destroy us all!" He roared, and raised his hand to hit her again.

Tessa winced, bracing for the blow. But suddenly before his fist collided with her, he stopped himself with obvious difficulty, and spun rapidly towards the exit. Tessa stared after him, stunned.

Once he reached the door, he turned to Tessa, who was big-eyed and huddled in front of the fire, and he breathed deeply, almost seeming to regret his anger.

She saw a flash of something in his hands; a key, and she understood. Tessa lunged to her feet and forward to the door, but he shut it quickly leaving her to crash herself against the door, desperate for escape. "No!" she shouted frantically, pounding the wood. "Mr. Mortmain, _please!"_

She could hardly say how she knew he was still standing there on the other side, but she kept begging. If what he had said about the Nephilim was true, then the automatons truly didn't stand a chance. No doubt they would find her and tear her to bits, just as he'd promised. She would rather scower the mountains and look for a way to defend herself then be trapped here like bait. Her voice was a high and pathetic keening sound, but she was not ashamed. She lost that right long ago. "Oh, God, _please_ let me out."

"Be _quiet_." He hissed through the door."I will handle this. Stay here. I will come back for you."

And then he was gone.

Tessa groaned, her face crumpling. She felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes and – _No_. Tessa firmed. _None of that. This is a serious moment and you _will not cry.

Bearing herself, Tessa realized she had no idea how long she had before the Shadowhunters stormed through the tunnels like a furious and dangerous hurricane. She had nothing to defend herself with – Mortmain had always been careful to give her nothing sharp or dangerous. There were not even tools to poke at the fire or churn burning wood. She would have to hide.

Approaching the fireplace, she reached for the winding gas key until the fire dimmed. Nate or Aunt Harriet had always been the one to put out the fire in their flat in New York, but she lifted her skirt and stomped the tiny, match-sized flames with her boots. Though the room still smelled like charred wood, Tessa hoped they would think no one was here, without a fire and blanketed by darkness.

Then Tessa stumbled through the thick dark to the wardrobe, closeting herself amidst dresses and boots. There was nothing left she could do, at least nothing she could think of, but it still made her furious with herself. Hiding like a child in a game, could she really think of no better way to defend herself?

Resigned, Tessa slid to the bottom of the wardrobe and drew her knees to her chest, counting the beats of her shuddering heart as time passed by.

It could have been an hour, it could have been ten minutes, Tessa really didn't know how long it had been when she finally heard footsteps. They were quick and agile, not the heavy clomping of automatons, and their shuffling sounds bounced across the hallowed tunnels.

Tessa's heart was beating too fast for her to count now, when she heard the voice. Low and ordinary, it sounded very strange to Tessa's ears. Was this the first voice she had heard since coming here, aside from Mortmain's and his machine's recordings?

"_Wait!" _The voice hissed. "Let's check in here." And though the door knob jiggled, Tessa's fear ebbed slightly when she remembered it was locked.

At first there was silence, and then some shuffling. "I'll do it," said a second voice followed by the sizzling of wood, like acid, and something cracked loudly. Were _burning_ the door _down_?

A white light leaked in the bottom of Tessa's wardrobe, unlike anything she'd seen before. It was impossible to say how many there were on the other side of the Wardrobe's door. There must have been at least three; she realized when she heard a third unknown voice. "Nobody's here. Let's go find Charlotte-"

"No." The first voice snapped with annoyance, clearly the leader of the three. "The orders were clear. Charlotte and the others will fight. You know our job."

There was resentful silence. Tessa could only guess how close or far the men were by the strength of the strength of the light.

"The fire's still warm. Who's ever room this was has already gone, but they must be close – if we keep moving we could find them."

"Not yet. Keep looking." The leader barked again. "Herondale, will you put those blasted books down – "

"By the angel," said the third voice annoyed, apparently a man by name of Herondale. "Who put you in charge anyways?"

"Just keep looking!" The leader hissed furiously. Apparently having already searched what little there was to search, he approached the wardrobe, the white light approaching. _This was it._

The wardrobe doors flung open and Tessa immediately locked eyes with the man. A boy, really, not too much older than herself. She could hardly make out his face with the burning bright light that seeped through his fisted hands, only the dark shadows the light warranted on the hollows of his cheekbones and under his eyes. There was some sort of designs on his hands and throat of his neck, dark and terrifying and unholy just as Mortmain had said.

Tessa was suddenly of a very high and annoying pitched sound, and when she sucked in a breath she realized it was _her_. She had been screaming.

"What – "The boy started, his hand reaching for her. Faster than Tessa thought she could move, she smacked his jaw with the back of her left hand. It was not her strongest arm, but the sharp diamond, protruding from her knuckle like a disembodied part, was hard enough that it tore a line down his jaw.

Not waiting for his furious reaction, Tessa rushed past him and darted for the door.

But someone caught her by the shoulders before she could reach it. Tessa did not see much of his face in her struggle to escape, digging in elbows and biting and all, but he looked young and strangely silvery.

"_No!_" When she could not get away, Tessa began to scream. _"Let me go!"_

"Hold her still!" The first boy resounded from behind her angrily. Tessa saw him holding his bloodied cheek and felt a grim satisfaction in the madness. The third boy approached her left side and helped the silver one hold her shoulders and arms to her sides

"Well done," The one her left said into her ear, stunning her into stillness. "I've been wanting to slap him for years."

Tessa, who could think of nothing to say to that, only stared into his face. She had a second to realize that he was beautiful and another to wonder how one of the Nephilim could be beautiful at all. It was a growing shock when she saw her victim approach and saw he was not as hideous as she had thought at all with his puppy-like brown hair and young face.

If any of the Nephilim surrounding her were strange or different looking at all it was the one on her right, holding her firmly but lightly. His skin was tan, but his hair seemed white by the glowing coming from the first boy's hands. Seeing her stare, he blinked at her and she stared more profoundly at his eyes.

"Girl," the first said to her angrily, making Tessa look at him instead. "What is your name? What are you doing here?"

Tessa set her mouth firmly.

"_Well?" _Tessa wondered if they would hit her, but he only sighed in growing agitation. "Right. Probably a filthy downworlder. We'll take her to the others," he decided and Tessa hoped the fear didn't show on her face.

"I'm not so sure she's a downworlder, Gabriel" said the white haired one on her right. "If she's not strong enough to break free of us, she's not a vampire or werewolf. And I don't see any warlock marks, do you?"

Gabriel paused, considering. He squinted at eyes and ears, and Tessa leaned away. But she could do nothing when he took her naked hand, turning it over as if he expected to find claws or scales. Despite the lack of both, he did not look disappointed.

His green eyes narrowed in on the blood stained diamond on her finger and she felt everyone's gaze on it too. "We must bring her to the Clave."

**_X_**

**Hey! Thanks for the reviews I'm glad some of you liked it!**


	3. Clockwork Court

Will realized he was staring and looked away quickly.

It wasn't the girl's face itself that made him look, mostly hidden by a great mess of hair anyway, but rather something stern in the set of her jaw that always had him ready when she suddenly struggled against him and Jem.

Gabriel walked behind them in the hallowed tunnels with his hand always poised on the hilt of his blade, as if he truly believed him and Jem were so incompetent as to let the girl get away. The git.

The tunnels were long and round, carved out of the mountain's rock. On occasion there were torches posted in handles, and once they even passed an eerie portrait of two warlocks with shocks of colorful hair in the darkness, as though a simple decoration would allow the place to pass for normalcy.

Nothing about these mountains was normal. He thought of the nearby villagers, so close to home, with no idea of what lay inside the towering rocks – an evil empire made up of robotic creatures at the hands of madman, genocide in his sights.

The tunnel they had been following finally birthed open to a great room, where fellow demon hunters stood amid metallic corpses. A few were huddled in pairs, one carving an _iratz_ onto the other. Henry was the first one Will noticed, his hair burning bright as he bent over to examine automaton, shrewed wires sparking from where it had been cut in half.

Then Will saw Charlotte, and was annoyed with his own relief.

"Will, Jem!" She gasped, approaching them quickly. "What have you found?" She breathed, though Will knew she was in fact asking the seized girl in their arms. The girl in question paid Charlotte no mind, staring in shock at the rubble of mechanics and blood smeared on the tile floor and at the Nephilim gathering around her.

"We found her," Gabriel announced to those near enough to hear. "In one of the rooms, where she was hidden. She could be a downworlder. She's wearing a ring…"

"A ring. Very well, I see she is also wearing a dress. Does anyone else care to announce her choice of fashion?" Will could not help but scrutinize, and was rewarded by Gabriel red face and Jem's quick grin.

"Why doesn't she speak for herself?" Benedict Lightwood emerged from the crowd and stopped in front of them, sneering into her face. "Well, girl?"

The girl narrowed her eyes, but did not answer. Seeing Benedicts ugly face snarling at her, Jem brought her shoulders back slightly, bringing her away. Just a small protective gesture, but it surprised Will.

After a moment of silence, Benedict spun to face the crowd. "The girl may know information on Mortmain. She may be able to tell us where he has escaped to."

"Escaped?" the girl asked, surprising them all by speaking.

"Tell us," Benedict was in front of her again. "Where would he go? _Tell us!"_

Will caught a few of the crowd nod in agreement, but Charlotte was not one of them. "Benedict!" she intervened, stepping forward. "She's just a girl."

"No, she is a traitor." He faced the crowd. "If this girl is indeed a downworlder then she has betrayed us all by violating the accords! We must take her before the Clave court."

To that, Charlotte had nothing to say.

**_X_**

The small elf-like woman had insisted in riding with Tessa and the two boys. At first the furious man who had shouted at her had demanded on riding in her carriage to ensure there was no escape. The boys on either side of her had looked indignant at this obvious insult, but this Charlotte woman - dressed in _men's_ gear - had put an end to that quickly.

She was across from Tessa in the small and crowded carriage, and when the carriage jostled over steep hill Tessa's knees would bump with the other women's. She was trying to press herself close to the carriage's side, trying to touch them all as little as possible.

n the few hours since she had been hustled into the carriage, little had been said at all. The silence had begun to weigh in on Tessa, surrounding her in every place like she was submerged in black water. Suffocating and maddening.

Abruptly, she lunged for the carriage's handle. None of them moved to stop her, which made her feel only more foolish when she discovered it was locked from the outside.

"It's locked, dear," Charlotte explained. "Poor thing. I'll bet you don't have a clue. You're just some silly mundane who got swept up into the wrong world, aren't you?" Charlotte whispered, sounding as delicate as she looked.

Tessa was fuming. The pity was too mortifying, and it was all it took for Tessa to say icily. "I know what you are," before turning to stare out the window. Charlotte didn't make an attempt to talk to Tessa again, and the boys had not said one word yet, leaving Tessa to her own misery.

It was stupid, it was childish – but it wasn't fair. She was being taken away again. Nothing was permanent. She had as much say in her destiny as a ball being passed among sinister children in a very dangerous game. The Dark Sisters, Mortmain, and now the Nephilim. But never her brother.

Hot tears stung her eyes like needles prickling and Tessa was glad for the darkness, despite her annoyance. Could she go one damned day without crying? It was ridiculous; it needed to stop. She would never, _ever_ cry again, she decided.

She needed to put her energy inside escaping anyway. A plan had already hatched inside Tessa – she need only be left alone for the shortest time, and then she would Change. Perhaps that Delilah girl she had Changed into at the Sister's would do. Oh, but when would they leave her? They had not looked away from her once since she had been pushed inside this stuffy carriage.

Mortmain had described the Shadowhunters as cruel with ugly grimacing faces, but Tessa did not agree. They looked normal and _mundane_-like to her with the only exception being the black ink on the backs of their hands and curving up their necks.

Tessa was surprised by a sudden pang of sadness, that she wasn't curious about their inked skin or ways of Nephilim. Before, she would be asking them questions like it was breathing. But now her curiosity was dead to her. But Mortmain was to blame for that.

The carriage jostled to a stop, making Tessa's knees bump into Charlottes. The locked door to her mobile prison was thrown open and the shouting man was seizing her arm and tearing her away before Charlotte could begin to protest.

"Mr. Lightwood!" She roared leaping out of the carriage after them, but he was already pacing through the graveyard approaching a mausoleum steadfast, dragging Tessa by her forearm in a python's grip. Tessa almost tripped over a headstone.

"Will, Jem! Stay where you are!" she heard the woman say behind her, and Tessa looked to see both of the young men emerging from the carriage with indignant looks, leaping out to join the chase.

"Benedict, compose yourself!" Charlotte hissed when she reached where they stood in front of the intricate stone door of the mausoleum. On the concrete's face, arching out of the rock by inches, was an angel. The angel's face was serene but powerful, obviously masculine. Naked feet stepped out of a river of rock chiseled onto the door, and in the angel's hands were a cup and a great sword.

"Just what in the angel's name are we doing here?" Charlotte demanded.

Benedict looked impatient. "I would have thought, as the head of the London Institute, you would have enough sense to know where we keep our prisoners." He paused in vicious silence. "But then I always did know you were unfit for your position."

Charlotte went livid and her voice was terse when she spoke. "As head of the London Institute I am perfectly aware it is our duty to house any wayward downworlders in need of assistance. We are more than capable of keeping this one for two short days until the meeting with the Clave."

Tessa was mystified. Behind her, Will and Jem approached.

"The Institute is no place for traitors," Benedict said hotly, and turned to tap the mausoleum's door in three places – on the cup, the sword's handle, and the angel's forehead. And with the heavy sound scraping of rocks, the door swung inward to reveal empty darkness.

It was invitation enough for Benedict. He paraded inside yanking Tessa's arm like a leash while the others shuffled in after her on all sides. Tessa's heart plummeted inside her. There would be no escaping anytime soon.

Inside the mausoleum, there were four flat stone walls but no existence of coffins. On the far wall, there was a doorway, lit torches revealing the stairway. Benedict forced Tessa down them, keeping an arm on her shoulder tightly.

The stairs were thin and steep and obviously older than anything in London. They walked on forever. The grimness was as evident in the air as was the cold. Tessa felt like she was walking into Hell. Maybe she was. What did she know about the ways of Shadowhunters?

When they reached the bottom, Benedict immediately began dragging her off again, not caring whether Charlotte or Jem or Will were following. Mr. Lightwood seemed to be annoyed Tessa was seeing too much – the great round room with brown and black marble flooring, and the ancient walls with names engraved. Like grave markers.

Who's bodies were down here? How many? Tessa wondered, and then was surprised she thought it. Maybe she was still curious after all.

In the center of the cavernous halls they'd been travelling, stood a looming statue that blocked their path. It was two heads taller than Tessa, and it's bend head was hidden by the cloak's hood. It wasn't until they got closer Tessa realized it wasn't a statue at all. It wasn't a statue, but it wasn't human.

Tessa shrieked, now that she could see the monster's face, her face draining of color. Beneath the hood was a hairless face, the skin seemed tight over the skull. But perhaps it only looked that way because of the white scars, carved all around the skeleton man's head. The eyes were hollowed and black, as if they'd been scooped out; leaving only the place they used to be. And the mouths had been stitched shut, with thick sloppy string that curved the mouth into a permanent grimace.

Tessa was gaping in horror, almost completely oblivious to the look the monster gave Benedict. A silent conversation seemed to be happening.

_Follow me. _A voice suddenly appeared in Tessa's head, washing her with new terror. She knew it was the monster's voice inside her head, but she didn't know how she knew it.

Tessa stepped back, out of Benedict's reach. She turned to run –

But then Jem was in front of her. With some hesitation and an apologetic look he took her shoulders lightly, spinning her and giding her after the cloaked man.

"They're called the Silent Brothers," Jem said to her quietly. He was still holding both her shoulders, but something told Tessa it was more for comfort than to ensure she not escape. "They won't hurt you. We just need to keep you still for a few days, that's all."

Tessa shrugged out of his grip, walking ahead of them. He didn't try to stop her.

The Silent Brother lead them down a quick flight of steps. Tessa saw and she immediately understood. They were in some kind of dungeon - individual cells were squared off in sections, and the face of each cell was made of bars.

_Keep her still, indeed_, Tessa fumed, her back tightening. The Silent Brother approached one cage, withdrawing a ring of keys and unlocking it. He held open the door like Tessa was being escorted into ballroom.

Lifting her chin, Tessa entered. The whole situation was demeaning, but it was best she just make the best of it. She sat on the thin cot rigidly, ignoring them all.

Once Benedict saw that Tess was firmly behind bars, he strode back up from where they came. Will, who had stood with arms crossed and looking bored throughout the whole encounter, was leaning against the bars sloppily, squinting at her in the dark. Jem stood straight, inspecting the dungeon uncertainly. Charlotte was the only one who spoke.

"Miss," Charlotte said, reminding Tessa. None of them knew her name. "We will be back for you in just a few days. We need to straighten this out. It will be alright."

And they left and Tessa was alone and she felt alone. But she didn't cry.

**_X_**

"It says here you are a _Mrs_. Mortmain?" The man with the bright eyes asked finally, leaning over the great black podium to get a better look at her. On both his sides members of something eerily like a jury, sitting in rounded benches that lined the great domed room. "And what is your given name, my dear? First and last, please."

Behind her, Tessa was flanked by two men Tessa had never seen before, both gripping her shoulders sternly. And rows of benches facing Tessa's back were empty save for the man with a mess of red hair next to Charlotte. Beside them were Jem and Will Herondale and across the aisle dividing the globe was the Gabriel and another Tessa hadn't seen before. A fit of jealousy sparked inside her; he was probably Gabriel's brother_._

The entire jury leaned forward along with the Judge, trying to catch what Tessa said though there was nothing to be heard. After a moment of waiting, the juries around her scuttled like loud birds. If Tessa listened carefully she could catch snips of what some were saying. _Insolent. Brothers. City. Downworlder. Questioning. Torture. Starvation. Beating. _

Would they really torture her? It was nothing Tessa hadn't suspected, but she felt frozen still. She had resolved to tell them what she could, even though her mind block was leaving her tongue-tied already. She would tell them about Mortmain, if she could, so they would at least leave her alone. There was no Mortmain here to control or instruct her. She was on her own.

"Quiet! Quiet down!" The man ordered, and the birds did so begrudgingly. He looked at Tessa consideringly. "Have you nothing to say, my dear?"

Tessa shook her head. He was trying to be sweet and coaxing, but Tessa wouldn't tell them anything about herself. Not her name, not her ability. Nothing. She didn't care about Mortmain, she would help them find Mortmain. But not if it got her caught in the Nephilim's webs.

"Very well," Judge Wayland said sounding self-righteous. "We'll skip the pleasantries…your _husband_, he was a mundane. Am I correct?"

Tessa tried to nod, but it was like her spinal cord was made of metal. Stick straight and unbendable. She would never understand this world how something she could not hold or touch was preventing her from speaking her mind.

"He _was_ a mundane, wasn't he?" The judge inquired once more, but Tessa could only blink. "Are _you_ a mundane? Mr. Benedict Lightwood here insists that you are a downworlder, and a traitor at that. But I am not so sure. Will you explain?"

"I – " Tessa started, but the block choked her. She felt everyone's eyes on her, watching expectantly. But there was nothing for her to say. The block was gagging her, leaving her mind foggy.

He sighed again, "You don't appear to be a child of the Night or the Moon…which would leave you as a Warlock. Am I correct?"

Tessa didn't even try to respond. They were starting to ask about her now. This wasn't good.

"Consul Wayland, this is useless," An exasperated voice called from behind Tessa. Like puppets, Tessa and the rest of the room spun their heads to see where Charlotte had stood up. "I believe it's clear to all of us there is a block on the girl's mind. No amount of questioning will change that."

Mr. Lightwood stood in the stands, squinting his eyes at her. "And what do _you_ propose we do in exchange, Mrs. Branwell?"

"Perhaps," she said mildly. "Instead of playing a pointless game of cat and mouse with a poor and clearly confused girl, we may try and have the block removed with the help of the Silent Brothers. Maybe they will be able to help us find out the Warlock who placed the block there and then see about its removal."

The room was silent, some gaping dramatically. People were glancing between Charlotte and even the fuming Benedict Lightwood uncertainly. Tessa assumed the obvious; these two did not get along.

There was an affectionate twinkle in this "Consul's" eyes, that Tessa was sure only she noticed. He was trying to be impartial, but Tessa felt he was close with Mrs. Branwell, like a father or something. "Anything else?" he said a little too flatly.

"Yes." Charlotte raised her chin. "There has been no proof that this girl even is a downworlder, let alone that she knows what the accords are."

Two hot splotches rose to Benedict's face as he opened his mouth to shout back a retort, but Charlotte cut him off. "_Until_, Mr. Lightwood, evidence of either of these have been proven, I insist this girl stay in the Institute with us. There is no reason to treat her like a prisoner."

Still facing the bearer side of the protruding stands, Tessa noticed Will. The boy was hardly suppressing a wicked grin at Charlotte's outburst. The smile didn't reach his eyes, but it lit up his entire face. Tessa was sure she wasn't the only one looking.

She turned away, frowning at herself.

**_X_**

**Hey, guys! Sorry for the lack of update, and thanks for being patient! I don't really like the meeting with the Clave but I couldn't push off this chapter anymore, so here it is. Tell me what you think!**

**And just so you know there are two collections I made on polyvore for this story! I'd love it if you could check them out!**

**Till next time!**


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